Stopping
by cremefeathersfalling
Summary: Kurt has a secret he doesn't care about and isn't willing to tell anyone. Except Blaine, of course. WARNING: self harm, massive angst.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Stopping

Author: catsblackmagic

Warning: Self harm, food substance issues (bulimia, ect.), high ammounts of angst.

Word Count: 518

Rating: M

Characters/Paring: Kurt/Blaine

Disclaimer: It'd be nice to own Glee. ^^ But I don't. :c

Summary: Kurt has a secret he doesn't care about, but won't talk to anyone. Except Blaine, of course.

Author's Note: I got this idea after reading 'Cut' by Katherine McCormick. Very good book. ^^'

.break.-

At about quarter 'til ten, the door is open and he's there, in the doorway. Huh. He must know my routine now.

"Kurt, give me the file. Now."

Blaine's voice is steady and firm, but is only masking the pain and remorse in his voice. I watch him with wide, curious eyes, as if I have no idea what he's talking about. The file is half an inch from my forearm. Blaine and I stare at each other for a moment, then he crosses the room and sits beside me. He claps my wrist, speaking gentley. "Drop it." His voice is that of hurt and somewhat of disbelief. He grips tighter, his nails digging into the inside of my wrist. "Kurt," he pleads stiffly. My hand opens on it's own accord, not because of Blaine's voice, but because the pain in my wrist is starting to hurt. The file falls, trips underneath the bed. The bedsheets crinkle as Blaine shifts, sighs.

"You need to stop this."

I say nothing. Come to think of it, I never say anything anymore. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Not talking doesn't get you in any trouble. And not getting in trouble keeps you out of the radar. It works easier this way.

Blaine looks up at me, then sighs again, looking at the ground between his shoes. He's desperate for an answer, that much is clear to me. He wants this to stop (this is the fourth time he's caught me). He wants our relationship to be normal. He wants his life to be normal. Isn't that what everyone wants, though? And if everyone wants to be normal, to fit in, then what would the base for normal be? I'm thinking too much again. That's the problem with not talking. You have too much time to think.

"Kurt?" Blaine pleads again, and I figure if I'm silent to everyone, shouldn't I at least talk to someone? I make that someone Blaine, and, for the first time in weeks, speak.

"...Yes?"

My voice is hesitent and tiny, and I don't recognize it well. He looks up sharply, watching me. I lift an eyebrow in response. He looks back down, and I guess he thinks he heard wrong. Talking is surprisingly tiring, and I don't want to do it again. So, instead, I reach out and touch his forearm. Momemtarily, I'm transfixed by the sight of my pale, skinny arm with red slashes across it against the navy blue of his uniform. He looks at me, blinks. Courage gathers at the surface of my mouth as I speak again.

"I'll try... To stop... For you."

His eyes are slightly widened and he nods. "I'll help you; I'll be there. No matter. Promise me you'll try hard to stop?"

I'm quite weary by now, so I only nod, smile slightly. Blaine returns the smile half force, says, "Good", then grabs the file from under the bed. I don't know if I whine over it's loss or not. He closes the door, and I lie back on the bed, dozing into a thick slumber.

.break.-

**AN:** To make it clear, Kurt's at his house, in his room. Blaine's there, because, well, as it states, Blaine knows Kurt's routine. Let's pretend Blaine doesn't live far from Kurt, 'kay? :D


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Stopping

Author: catsblackmagic

Warning: Self harm, food substance issues (bulimia, ect.), high ammounts of angst.

Word Count:

Rating: M

Characters/Paring: Kurt/Blaine

Disclaimer: It'd be nice to own Glee. ^^ But I don't. :c

Summary: Kurt has a secret he doesn't care about, but won't talk to anyone. Except Blaine, of course.

Author's Note: I got this idea after reading 'Cut' by Katherine McCormick. Very good book. ^^'

.break.-

Walking down the crowded hallway, I'm not so sure about this idea anymore. There is no reassuring slip of metal in my pokcet like normal. This morning I could've snatched the other piece of file under the sink, but Blaine had made me give it up (along with my other 'sharps', as therapists and doctors call them). So now, here I am, trying to locate my locker without being noticed. At lunch I could find another slip of metal to calm me, or even in class under the desks. But it'd be difficult with Blaine watching me constantly. He's in a few of my classes, but at lunch and in the halls he is always there. Yet, as I put my books in my locker for lunch, I find he is not there. Oh, yeah. He has Ms. Somar for fifth period, and she always keeps her students a little late. I use this rare alone time to slip into the empty boys' restroom. I don't have to use the bathroom, but it's comforting to be alone again.

The heavy wooden door blocks out most of the noise from the hall, and a faulty spiggot is leaking, the droplets of water soothing and easy. I brace my hands on a sink, staring into the mirror. I'm breathing thickly, arms shaking. My hands are sweaty and I'm trembling now.

I can't help it.

I take the zipper of my Michael Kohrs jacket and drag it down my shaking arm. It leaves a deep, jagged line. I breathe slower, stop shaking as much. I'm still gasping for breath and trembling and attempting to calm myself when I find a small audience. Blaine is standing at the door, and from the look on his face I can tell he's been there this whole time, watching me. I'm not in the mood to deal with him right now. Looking down at my bleeding wrist, I grab paper towels and wrap the marred flesh in them. I pull my sleeve down over my arm, and slide past him.

Out in the hallway, it's silent. Everyone has left for their classes or lunch. There's the clang of that heavy, wooden door again. I start shaking as I feel Blaine's presence behind me, hear his slightly strangled, -almost recognozable- confused breathing. I feel the tears welling up in the crooks of my eyes. God dammit, do I always have to cry? Anger courses through me and I groan, stomping down the hall, turning swiftly, kicking a locker in rage. I ignore the pain in my foot and the way Blaine flinches and sighes.

.break.-

**AN:** This is pretty short. But, ah well. ^^


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Stopping

Author: catsblackmagic

Warning: Self harm, food substance issues (bulimia, ect.), high ammounts of angst.

Word Count:

Rating: M

Characters/Paring: Kurt/Blaine

Disclaimer: It'd be nice to own Glee. ^^ But I don't. :c

Summary: Kurt has a secret he doesn't care about, but won't talk to anyone. Except Blaine, of course.

Author's Note: I got this idea after reading 'Cut' by Katherine McCormick. Very good book. ^^'

.break.-

At school the next day, I wear a long-sleeved black sweater with gold studs on the shoulders. The sleeves stop just at my fingertips and I constantly remind myself not to push them up, not matter how hot it is. I'm in homeroom now, the science room with it's large, black tables, sitting silently in the back. For a while, no one is sitting beside me. Finn and Puck sit together infront of me, talking to Sam and Mike at the table next to them. I watch them for a long time. They seem so normal, everything seems so normal. They talk about the latest baseball scores, about how they can't wait for football season to start up again, about Coldplay's newest album, about relationships. So serene and normal, I think for a minute that I'm like them; normal, straight, a jock, and not so flamboyant.

Then Blaine comes in and I look away, twist in my chair. He smiles and says hi to the glee boys sitting infront of me. He takes his seat beside me, dropping his bag on the floor and turning to face me. I cross my arms and legs, turn so my back is facing him. I'm in no mood to talk; I stayed up late last night and my back aches and it hurts to talk, so I just don't. Blaine sighs, then turns. I look out the window, but my ears are alert. I can hear him rifle through his bag, pull out some papers, and begin writing on them. I breath almost silently, sigh even quieter. I turn in my chair, feeling small and dead. Blaine glances to me, searches my eyes, then continues writing. I understand I look like death, too. There are faint rings under my eyes from lack of sleep. My style is off today. My hair is slightly toulselled. There's lined paper under my nose suddenly, with the writing of "Do you want to talk?" on the first line. Blaine looks at me, then back to his work.

I pull out a purple pen and write, "No," and, "Not verbally," as an after-thought. Blaine scralls back, "How are you?" I don't know how to respond. "Terrible, I suppose." Blaine writes, "Oh," and the conversation is stilled and awkward after that. "I'm just...tired," I write, handing him the paper. He hesitates for a moment, then scribbles, "Are you ok? I mean...after yesterday." I look at the note for a long while, then slump forward, pushing my chair back. I cross my arms infront of me and rest my chin on my wrists, writing, "Fine. Why would I be any different?"

In my mind, we've just met and instead of like the time on the staircase, I don't feel instant trust towards this guy. I am shy of him, unknowing, and want to tell him nothing more. Where did our relationship go? I know he still thinks of us as boyfriends, because we are, but I feel detached and finally, at once, alone.

Blaine begins to write again and I watch him curiously. "Well...Yesterday you were c-" I flick my wrist out and sharply stop Blaine from writing anymore, harshly dragging my pen across the paper, over his words. The movement happens quickly and leaves a dark, violet line on the paper. Blaine looks at me and I catch my breath. Huh. That's funny. I don't remember panting like that.

"Kurt," he starts, but I stop him, shake my head.

"I don't want to talk...to you. At the moment." The words are knives in my lungs and heart, but I -again- ignore the look of pain and hurt and shock on Blaine's face. The capacity of those I could never feel.

.break.-

**AN: **Huzzah, stuff is going down hill! :D -sarcasm-


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Stopping

Author: catsblackmagic

Warning: Self harm, food substance issues (bulimia, ect.), high ammounts of angst.

Word Count:

Rating: M

Characters/Paring: Kurt/Blaine

Disclaimer: It'd be nice to own Glee. ^^ But I don't. :c

Summary: Kurt has a secret he doesn't care about, but won't talk to anyone. Except Blaine, of course.

Author's Note: I got this idea after reading 'Cut' by Katherine McCormick. Very good book. ^^'

.break.-

Stopping. It's so difficult. Keeping an addiction of scarring yourself from swirling around savagely in your mind. At first, you ignore it - deny, even. But soon, it starts to become all you think about. You can relate anything to it. It becomes a nuisance, a worry. But you don't see it as that. You see it as your savior, your own personal redeemer. It frees your mind, lets you forget everything, to be amiable. So, it's good for your mind, at least you think it is.

But no one _said_ it was good for you. In fact, it's the opposite - terrible for you. So they say. I find it helpful for me. It distracts me - the "addiction". They call it an addiction, but you know it's not. "I can stop whenever I want." Yeah, uh huh. That's what everyone says. Truth is, you can't. You don't call the shots, you have no control. Habit has reign, and all you have is an sliver of unadministered hope. That hope, that belief? It's murdered by the persistant habit, that annoying _ritual_ that just dominates your whole mindset.

I know it's done that much to me. I constantly think about _it,_ the cutting. I pay less attention to things. I don't talk, even when a sarcastic or witty comment is desperately needed in a conversation. My grades are terrible, when they used to be the best in the class. People are noticing, watching. Slowly realizing, matching up the attitude and cuts. Counting the new slashes and marks with each passing day.

No one says anything, however. They ignore it, try to get on with their own life. Then, oh, look at that! That kid you noticed dragging a razor down his arm in the bathroom the other day killed himself! Then you feel guilty, like it's _your_ fault. You start growing paranoid, saying "Why didn't I do anything?" or "What stopped me from helping him?" The answer? Dignity, ego, reputation, social respect, whatever you call it. You're afraid to do anything because people will look at you differently, and, of _course_ you care what everyone thinks of you! So you pass up those kids with some sort of "dissorder" and forget it.

So far, no one has tried to help. Except Blaine. He's never cared what people thought of him (he performed to a _possible_ love in a Gap, come on). He's constantly there, checking up on me, consoling me. Most of the time it's annoying, like he can just leave me alone. But in the back of my mind, I greatly appreciate his help. Because I know this "addiction", this "dissorder"... It's getting out of hand.

.break.-

**AN:** This chapter is actually kind of useless, but it's my favorite. I quite like it. ^^


End file.
